I can still detect the magic, though, a silvery thread of jarring wrongness, even as we’re making the turn onto Old Campus, past the cemetery. A small murder of crows huddles on the lone barren tree within the confines of the wrought iron fence.
I grimace. More of them. That’s not good. Their presence is not just atmospheric or weirdly prescient. Crows have their role in mythology and stories as harbingers of doom or death, I think, because they have evolved to detect magic from the Old Ones on some level. They’re scavengers. Knowing when something is dead nearby benefits them.
How many are perched on the running trail, eager, intelligent eyes glinting as they stare down at the blood and innards…
Stop, stop.I close my eyes and press my knuckles into the lids, making lights and fireworks explode in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Carter asks.
I lower my hands and open my eyes. “Mmhmm.”
He gives me a skeptical look but says nothing more, and then we’re pulling up in front of the house.
The Foreign Language House is a two-story brown split-level with yellow shutters and a matching sign in the front yard declaring its identity. It’s ugly and old and I’ve never seen a more welcome sight.
I’m out of the car and bolting up the crumbling front sidewalk to the concrete porch before Carter has the car fully stopped.
I raise my fist and bang on the brown door.
But there’s no response, except what sounds like a movie, distant voices shouting and the chug-chug-chug of mechanized gunfire. One of Daan’s housemates is obsessed with action movies.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter and pound on the door again. “Wake up!”
This time, the rapid clomp of footsteps coming down the interior stair sounds through the door.
I back up slightly, prepared to face off with a pissed-off, half-asleepDer Student.
But the door flies open, revealing a sleep-rumpled Daan still in his red plaid pajama pants and matching Netherlands flag T-shirt. My Christmas gift to him last year. Strain shows, though, in the deep crease in his forehead.
Relief washes over his face, and he reaches out, yanking me into his shoulder. “Godzijdank,” he murmurs before releasing me. “We were so worried that you—”
We.Hope sparks in me. “Is Chessa—”
I catch just a glimpse of neon pink before Chessa shoves past Daan to tackle me, arms thrown around my neck.
Oh, thank God.
Her weight and enthusiasm send me stumbling back off the porch step, and I knock into Carter coming up behind me. Hecatches me with a grunt, hands gripping my upper arms, keeping all of us from toppling over.
Chessa lets go and pulls back to look at me. “I called the police station, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Of course not. I could see Morales wanting to keep every detail locked down, even if it upped Chessa’s worry. Maybe evenbecauseof that.
“Please tell me the only words out of your mouth were, ‘I want a lawyer.’” Chessa’s glasses are smudged, and her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, but she still manages to give me a stern look.
“There was nothing to say. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”Right.I search Chessa’s features, her pristine running jacket and leggings, no hint of blood or harm.
I still can’t believe she’s here, that she’s okay. The bulwark of dread in my gut, preparing me for the worst, refuses to dissipate, even with the proof right in front of my eyes.
I was so sure…
Just take the win, Jocasta. Your gut was wrong this time. Be grateful.
Chessa nods rapidly. “Good, good.”
But then she hesitates. “Is it true that… that Lennie is dead?” Her brows draw together, creasing her forehead. “I bumped into Kate Thomas when I tried to get back into Branwick.”
Kate.That was her name, the runner who had called the police. IknewI recognized her.
